The Trouble With Clones
by Velvetbabe
Summary: The author, in conversation with Curt Wild's clone.


**Please read first:** The following probably breaks a 'fan fiction' rule, or something, in that this is a jokey, dumb little ditty of a story involving Curt Wild (fiction) ... and myself (non fiction). Yes, I've actually stuck myself into my own damned story. Don't worry - for once, I've written a piece of non-pornography! This is just a silly one off (black) humor piece done a few years ago for the unsolicited entertainment of a friend, which, this weekend, having stumbled upon it and fallen into it, I decided to greatly expand. Seeing as I never originally intended to publish it, it's filled with my sometimes sick sense of humor and personal inside jokes, such as my real-life dislike for both a certain 70s country rock band, and a certain past decade, as well as my real life love and reverence for the origins of punk rock, and for all things Ewan McGregor (and his twitter account). I also turned it this weekend into a bit of an exploration of, and discussion about, the whole concept and phenomenon of 'fan fiction' itself. (Regarding same, please see the author's note following this story.)

 **Bear in mind,** if you haven't read my 73 chapter-long _The Erotic Adventures of Brian and Curt,_ I'm afraid you will not get a number of the references in this story, which "Curt" and I discuss at weird length.

PS: thanks to my pal, **Cobainlover4ever,** for the connection. She is a budding writer with some cool ideas, who is putting up a unique and rather compelling Curt story of her own at present. Check it out and show some support by leaving her a review!

* * *

 **THE TROUBLE WITH CLONES**

* * *

 _Ding dong !_

M rushes into the living room, excitedly throwing open the door.

At the sight of the man in her doorway, her shoulders slump.

"Oh, no. No. _Wrong_. I specifically said, I specifically _clicked_ on-"

"-Ya got a light?" Clone Curt asks, cigarette dangling from his lips as he walks past her into the house.

"No, and actually, there in _no_ smoking inside the house - strictly forbidden."

"Fucking cold out there, man," CC says, plopping himself down on the couch.

"Yes, but ... believe me, even my best friend with chronic _asthma_ is made to stand out in the wintry cold when smoking."

CC shrugs and puts his platform shoes up onto the coffee table.

M looks on in disbelief.

"Oh. Well, sorry, I guess." CC says, patting his pockets until he finds an old crumpled up matchbook. "Look," he says, lighting up a smoke and taking a long, slow inward breath as if he hasn't had a cig in years. "I've got somebody right after you - fraternal _twins_ \- and then I've got some Liberty University fratboy after that, so can we get on with it? What perversions are you into?"

M stands by slowly shaking her head.

"No. Listen. You're the _wrong Curt_. They sent the _wrong one_. I specified _early-movie Curt_. First half of the film - Ewan's natural hair color. Eyeliner. Leather. Or, full gold lame, with tophat and tails, total press conference scene-Curt. _No_ lipstick. And _no_ tacky animal-print."

Curt raises his arms to look at his shirtsleeves.

"Are you kidding? Late-movie Curt is _way_ hotter, and trust me, _way_ more in demand."

She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head.

"No."

"Aw, come on! _Me_ in the film, up on the rooftop seducing young Arthur while that far out space ship spews glitter all over the sky? Totally pan-sexual! 'Utterly alluring', is how I think you put it to a friend, once."

"Yes, yes, but ... that was just that one _photo_ of you, dressed exactly as you are now, leaning against that brick chimney," she pauses as her eyes roam his body, "with your, er, _Ewan's_ long, skinny, beautiful silver lame-d thigh, which for some reason I find ... I _found_ super duper fucking bewitching."

"Yup." He grins. "Sexy as fuck. Like Bacall." He nods. _"Lipstick."_

"Lauren Bacall is the coolest, hottest woman of all time. But as a straight girl, I don't wanna fuck her, okay? _Or_ a man in lipstick!"

"Eddie Izzard gets plenty."

"Jesus Christ. _Tell_ me people don't order up Jerry Devine when they could have _you_ , or Brian, or Arthur, or Jack Fairy, even."

"Takes all kinds," he grins.

"I repeat: I have no interest in fucking a man in lipstick."

"Fucking?" CC fishes into his pocket, takes out an Iphone and begins sweeping with his fingers. "I thought they told me ... ya, here it is, they said this one was just a blowjob."

M shrieks at the top of her lungs.

 _"What on earth is Curt Wild doing with an IPHONE?!_ You're supposed to be from 1972! David Bowie is still Ziggy Stardust! Iggy is still dangerous, and Lou Reed's still living with a drag queen named Rachel!"

 _"Brian's_ based on Bowie. _I'm_ the amalgam of Iggy and Lou." He squints. "Haven't you seen the film?"

Her mouth drops open.

 _"Like TEN MILLION TIMES!" s_ he bellows.

There is suddenly in the air, the sound of an Eagles track - M's all time, most loathed band.

 _Well I got a peeeeacefullllll, easy feelin', and I know you won't let me dooooowwwwn ..._

M throws her head around in annoyance and confusion, trying to decipher where on earth the maddening sound is coming from.

"Sorry," CC says, "new ring tone. Hold a sec," he holds the phone against his ear. "Ya?" he says. "Slight problem here, with the chick. No, my 2pm was fine, he only wanted me to writhe around shirtless lip synching _Gimme Danger_ ... _this_ one says there's a mixup." He shifts the phone to his other ear. "Ya ... okay. Uh huh; cool. I'll tell her."

He presses a button on the device and looks at M.

"They said they're all out of Christian Bale, but we can get you Jonathan Rhys Meyers at half price."

M's mouth hangs open. She then closes it, speaking slowly.

"I _ordered,_ I _paid for_ early-movie Curt. I am _horny_ for early-movie Curt."

"Come on! I'm still _Curt_ , for fuck's sake!" He grins softly and leans slightly forward. " _Still_ super hot. _Still_ with the screwed up background, needing nurturing and care."

M, looking annoyed:

"Look, I know I'm female and I do find the hurt/comfort genre slightly irresistible, but I didn't exactly order you up to hold your hand-"

"-Sorry, what?" CC says, looking confused. "'Hurt/what'"?

"Hurt/ _comfort_. It's a _storyline_ you can pursue, a _category_."

CC is baffled.

"See," M says, "we writers sometimes like to, I don't know ... _torture_ our characters a bit, on purpose. Speaking of which, did you see last night's _Outlander_?"

"Huh?"

" _Outlander_. The TV adaptation of Diana Gabaldon's books? The repeated smashing of Jamie's hand with a heavy mallet and then the nail driven through the mangled up, bloodied, grotesquely swollen thing?"

"What?! _Fuck_ no."

"Anyway, where was I? Torturing our characters. Well, not 'our' characters - for some reason in fan fiction-land, we are always expected to stress that _these are not our characters_ , as if people didn't know that, and as if the actual creators of the characters would bother to sue us - but anyway, when we write, we sometimes like to make really horrid, awful shit happen to them, if only, I suppose, because it gives us the excuse for one or two, or like _twelve_ , major, swoon-worthy, lovey-dovey healing, or as Brian likes to think of them, rescue scenes."

 _"'Rescue_ scenes'?"

"Ya. Like, for example, when Brian practically crashed through a locked door when you were about to be sort of almost raped, for the second time."

" _Raped?"_

"Again, have you not seen _Outlander_? Cuz frankly, that one was worse."

"No," he says quietly, a bit freaked.

M sits down on the couch next to him, resting a hand on his forearm.

"Well, the healing/comfort part was a bit later on, after Brian took you away from the bad man, and you went into a full blown panic attack and started hyperventilating uncontrollably, and he shoved a paper bag over your face to get you to stop. One of my favorite scenes I've ever written."

"Um ... I ... um ..."

"I know it sounds a bit extreme, but, y'know ... welcome to the world of fan fiction!"

"Which is ... is it all just fucked up shit? I mean ... I guess I don't really understand the whole concept."

"The whole concept ... well ... it's funny. Arguably _Velvet Goldmine_ itself is a piece of fan fiction, and so no, it's not all fucked up. That movie was a straightahead, unabashed love letter to a glittering, glorious time where all the rules, gender and otherwise, were bent, and then broken; where achingly beautiful people have these mad, passionate affairs and rage-filled screaming matches; where one man crawls and writhes all over another onstage as the flashbulbs burst - sex, tragedy, fame, loss, drama, addiction - it was a fictionalized, but eerily spot on take on _real_ people and _real_ events, circa '72 to like, '75, I believe.

We "fic" writers essentially do the same thing - we cook up stories about beautiful, charismatic people who intrigue us and turn us on and blow our fucking minds. People we wanna fuck. People we wanna _be_. The only difference being, these are not characters we dreamed up to begin with. _But_ they're people we've fallen in love with, _so much so that we don't want to let them go._ That's probably the crux of the whole thing right there. We want to take them places where the original writer didn't, or couldn't. Mind you, that's sometimes for good, or ill, depending on the quality of the writing, and the extent, or limitation, of the writer's imagination."

CC: Squinting, not really getting it.

"Let's take _you_ , for example. Myself, I sort of like to keep Curt fairly close to Todd Haynes' guy, because in my opinion he is hard to improve. All I've done is expand on certain elements he hinted at, like your longing, and your heartbreak, and what those things say about you - that your heart obviously rules your fantastically screwed up head, and what that would mean for you. And then there's your smack addiction, and of course, your catastrophically dysfunctional background, all of which, in my mind, can only have spelled 'horrendous wholesale motherfucking nightmare _mess',_ and what _that_ would mean for you. So, for instance, um, well, let's see ... what do I do to you in my story? Okay ... first, you're drugged and held down while being brutally gang raped by your heroin dealer and two men ..."

"Jesus _Christ!"_

"... who leave you for dead - you're hemorrhaging pretty badly out of your ass in some filthy back alley, to the point where you later need like a dozen stitches. Afterwards, you try to slit your throat."

"Fuck! I don't _blame_ me!"

"I know, right? Who _wouldn't_ want to slit their throat after that!?"

"This makes me feel terrible, frankly."

"Sorry."

"I mean, seriously, what the hell's the appeal?"

Scrambling: "Well ... I mean ... _Haynes_ is the one who wrote that you'd been molested by your brother and thrown into a mental institution at age 13 for shock treatment, for fuck's sake. _I_ only took it from there and ran with it, a bit."

"A bit? But ... wasn't that part sort of based on real stuff that happened to Lou Reed?"

"Um, well ... now that I think of it, ya. The whole _'fry the fairy out of him'_ , shit - ya."

"So then why make it ten times worse? Why all the violence and awful shit?"

"And tragedy! I mean, earlier on in the story, I have it that your first real boyfriend, when you were only 17, mind you - this guy is like 20 years your senior, he was a school teacher in fact, and was your mentor and the love of your life to that point - he goes and fucking hangs himself, from a rafter in the bedroom. This is just before I have you living in an abandoned flop house, engaging in some pretty squalid survival prostitution ..."

CC shoots up off the couch, his face pinched in disgust.

" _Jesus!_ " he says. "But I'm only a kid! It's all so fucking _sick and disturbing_! Why would anyone wanna _read_ that?!"

M shrugs. "Drama, baby. But, okay ... I guess I'm not getting this across too well." She sighs. "See, to _me_ Curt Wild was such an out of control mess, just as Todd Haynes wrote him, without me embellishing at all, that had that guy been real, I could _totally_ see those things happening to him - homelessness for sure, in and out of rehab, tricking, desperation, chronic poverty, rape."

 _"Christ; stop._ Before I slit my _own_ throat. What I can't figure is that you have any readers at _all_."

"Well, relax!" She chuckles. "Maybe after _this_ story I won't, ha ha! But dude, seriously, think about it this way: maybe it's all a sneaky setup - a bunch of hideous excuses for some serious, intensive _comfort,_ ie major league _nurturing,_ to follow ... which is where Brian steps in."

CC: shrugs, doubting it: "Okay. Still pretty sick, but ... um, maybe."

"Do you ever fuck Clone Brian, by the way? Because I would kill - _seriously kill -_ to watch that - to film it, especially. In fact I would _pay_ you guys _huge_ , fat sums-"

-Slowly shaking his head and raising his palm, speaking solemnly: _"Clones don't fuck other clones."_

"Jesus Christ, you're kidding. Why?"

"They program it out of us, first thing. Think about it - clones are the hottest people on the planet, right? Or else why would they clone us? And we don't even age - we can't! We stay young and beautiful, the whole time. If clones could fuck each other, that is literally all we would do for the rest of the existence of the earth - _no humans would get any, ever."_

"Ahh, I see. Brilliant, but still horrifically tragic, for those of us seriously into _watching two boys,_ but anyway, where were we?"

"Hurt/ _comfort_ \- we're on the _comfort_ part, thankfully. Which, in my experience, I mean, fuck knows, the women who rent me, and the femboys, _do_ seem to want to baby the shit out of me."

"Oh fuck, ya. And _bang_ you, as well, of course." She smiles. "I mean, we're nothing if not very well rounded."

"Oh, I agree," he laughs. "So what _else_ happens to me? Now I guess I sorta have to know."

"Well, don't worry. It's not _all_ bad. You and Brian fall madly in love, in fact, like, total head over heels stuff, in fact you get _hitched_ , in a _church_ , by a _bishop,_ which I fully admit is more than a little stretch, seeing as it's 30 fucking plus years before gay marriage had even been _conceptualized,_ but anyway, that's where the story wanted to go, and sometimes - oftentimes as a writer - you let the story lead the motherfucking way."

"So where does all this shit - this insane story - where does it take place, anyway? Detroit?"

" _Detroit_? Fuck no. Try Ibiza."

"Ibiza? What is that?"

"Ibiza is an island off the coast of Spain, famous for it's clubbing scene, but back in '72 when you guys are there, I have it as just being a small fishing village, sort of."

"So what the fuck are two rockers doing in a small fishing village?"

She shrugs. "I chose it because it's a big gay mecca nowadays, and Brian, being a millionaire rock star, I figured would have some secluded beach front place on the Mediterranean, just to get away from it all, so it seemed to fit."

"Okay, ya; makes sense."

"Plus, in the film, you two steal away on holiday in the middle of the night, and they show you guys briefly on some beach, somewhere, so it fit."

"Hmm, ya."

"You get around on a motorcycle down there."

"Why not just take limos everywhere? Why a motorcycle?"

"Because, Ewan."

He nods softly, not really understanding.

Her eyes brighten. "Did you know that he tweeted about you recently? I almost fell over and died."

"Huh? What did he say?"

"Okay, are you ready? Fucking tweeted out, just out of the _completely sheer blue_ \- and even instagrammed it too: _'I miss Curt'."_

"Curt _Wild_?"

"Yes, you dolt! Who else do you think he meant?"

"Well fuck. Just because he once played the guy like a million years ago, doesn't mean he's obsessed with him like you are."

 _"I'm not obsessed with him-!",_ she shouts, then stops herself and speaks sheepishly: "Well, okay, maybe I am, a little."

"And how do you even know he was referencing Curt _Wild_ , if all he said was 'I miss Curt'? It could've easily been a friend of his who died named Curt, right? Or a family member? I mean, how likely is it that Mr Twice Motorcycled Round The World guy was sitting around moping about some old movie character he once played?"

M, smarting from the phrase _'some old movie character'_ , reaches for her own Iphone, taps her "favorites" under Twitter, and with a smug look, holds out the accompanying photo.

"See, asshole!?"

"Ya, I see, alright. I see a guy who ain't _early movie Curt!_ That dude is _me!_ Dressed exactly as I fucking am right now! Even Ewan McGregor agrees _I_ am the hottest Curt!"

" _No_! Total bullshit! He isn't saying he wants to _fuck_ you, firstly, he's just saying ... well, I don't know what he's saying. How much fun it was to play you, I guess. Certainly compared with like, Mark Renton, I bet, or Obi Wan, or that Moulin Rouge asshole."

"Holy shit," he says, nodding vigorously. "Agreed. I mean, talk about romantic _schmaltz_ for 11 year olds. And who wants to hear Ewan singing corny ballads atop CGI elephants, when he can rip up his vocal chords for shit like _TV Eye_?"

" _And_ dive head first, shirtless, through fire!? _Yes_ , we are in complete agreement, here, my friend."

"Okay, so ... what becomes of Brian and I, in your story? Happily ever after, or do we go out in a screaming, blazing shit storm?"

"Well ... jury's still out, I mean the story's not finished yet - it'll probably never be finished, in truth - so it's actually too early to say, and fuck knows, I certainly have you guys fight like absolute motherfucking _dogs_."

"Okay," he laughs, "so we break up a lot, then, in the meantime? That sounds about right."

"Oh, ya; _tons_."

"Good," he chuckles, "So why Brian and Curt, though? Why not pair up Curt with Arthur? Sometimes guys who rent me want me to call them 'Arthur'."

"Wow, really? Well, ya, I guess I can see that. I did love reading some Curt/Arthur stories, the well written ones, anyway, because you guys _are_ kind of a perfect match, in a way, totally irresistible, when you think about it, when you meet up again by accident all those years later, but I'm just sort of stuck on you and Brian, for some reason, even though you're not such a good match."

"I see," CC says, trying to make sense of it all.

"Plus, 'C/A', as they call it, would have to be the 80s, and I loathe that decade for it's bad fashions and horrid politics and those despicable, ubiquitous drum machines in each and every piece of drivel that passed as a pop song, y'know? Whereas you and Brian are still back in bright, glittering, glorious, 'bisexual chic' _1972_."

"Well, but don't Arthur and I actually meet on the rooftop in 1972? Where I sort of take his virginity?" Looking down at himself and grinning. "Dressed exactly as I am now?"

"Ya, but most of the C/A stories have you guys together later on, again, after you meet up at that bar after the Tommy Stone gig, which is clearly the dreary, grey, conservative 80s. Remember how they have Tommy Stone's big, bleached, tacky hair aping how Bowie's was during the 80's Let's Dance period, after it was perceived he had sold out, in praising Reagan, and claiming to never have been queer, after all?"

"Um ..." CC says, a bit lost. "As a clone, I don't really know about politics or history, to be honest. I mean, I have a brain, obviously, but it's only programmed for certain things."

"I can only imagine what those 'things' are," she grins.

"Speaking of which", he says, taking a long drag on his cig. "One more question about your story ..."

"Ya?"

"Is there any sex?"

The laugh starts from the base of her spine, titters up her torso, and bursts so hard and loud from her mouth that CC jumps a foot in place.

"Oh god," she says, wheezing and hooting. "Oh shit. Only _constantly_. I mean, holy shit. _Yes_. Bucketloads of nonstop passionate sex, shall we say. I guess you've never read it."

"Um, no."

"Trust me," she says, dabbing the laughter-induced moisture from the corner of her eyes. "It sort of doesn't stop. If anything, there's too _much_ sex in it. The great irony being, that a major theme running through the entire story is of Brian and Curt trying _not_ to fuck, the whole time they're in Spain."

"Huh?!"

" _Not_ Brian's, idea, by the way."

"So whose fucking idea was it?"

"Curt's!"

"Um, sorry ... that doesn't seem like Curt."

"But, if you examine Haynes' rendering, the guy who is more heart than head, it actually _does_. And in my story, given all he's been through, what the lad craves most is _normalcy_ , and who can blame him? I enjoyed, in fact, writing Curt as a traditionalist, because that is the polar opposite of the way people would expect him to be, right? And what's more traditional than virginity on one's wedding night?"

"Ya, but Curt is _hardly_ a fucking virgin."

"No, not technically, but, my thing is, this poor bastard had his virginity, and essentially his childhood innocence, stolen from him by his brother, right? He never really got the chance to _be_ a virgin, and then with the turning tricks, and the rape, which by the way renders him partially sexually dysfunctional - he's incapable of bottoming - it's, to him, the impetus for this bone-deep need to _reclaim_ _his virginity_. To take back what was stolen from him. To him, it symbolizes reclaiming his entire _life_ , and starting completely over, anew, with Brian, hence ... no sex til the wedding night."

"Okay," He sniffles, "I get that." He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. "It's kinda beautiful, actually."

Gushing: "Gosh, thanks."

"I mean, ya certainly can't hold it against the guy. So, like ... how does that go for them, for um, _us_?"

She laughs. "Well ... not so well, actually! You're both very sincere and earnest about the idea, of course, I mean, Brian certainly will do anything in the entire _world_ for you, but the reality is, you guys are young and super, duper hot for each other, and horned out of your fucking minds half the time, and sleeping in the same bed, and using the same shower, and Jacuzzi, and um, kitchen table and ..."

CC burts out laughing. "So I guess we keep failing at this?"

"Well, I mean, in truth, you guys _do_ embody a couple of testosterone-pickled dick monsters, to quote my man, Dan Savage, so, yes."

 _"Testosterone pickled!"_ he laughs. "Good! I'm actually not sorry to hear that. But _tell_ me it doesn't ruin the wedding night, and Curt's dreams of-"

"-You'll have to read the story ..."

He smiles coyly at her. "Okay, well all of this sort of brings us back to the question at hand, anyway."

"The question at hand?"

"Did you know," CC says, slowly approaching and standing before her, hips jutting, voice lowered, "that we clones don't run on batteries, as is commonly thought?"

"No?" M asks, eyeing the extraordinarily hot being suddenly right in her face. "W-what _do_ you run on?"

CC grins a devilish, wicked grin. _"Sex",_ he whispers, cigarette dangling off the edge of his lips. "Lots and _lots_ of super hot, motherfucking _sex_."

M gulps, looking him up and down. "Which you clearly personify."

"Yep, total and utter _id_."

"I thought you said you hadn't read my stor-"

"-Somebody told me about that bit. Now, I dig that I'm not the Curt you _ordered,_ but ..."

"-No," M agrees, slightly breathless, slowly standing and raising herself towards his lipstick-ed lips, "but perhaps," she continues, laying a hand on his belt buckle, "perhaps a _compromise_ is in order."

"Yes", he whispers, "I mean, isn't _any_ Curt Wild better than _no_ Curt Wild at all?"

"Most definitely", she says, breathless, brushing his lips with hers. "So like, maybe if we just ... remove this awful leopard print shirt ..."

"And then I can, like, maybe rub some fucking oil and _glitter_ into my naked chest?-"

-Suddenly, the strains of _Hotel California_ blast out from the direction of CC's back pocket, causing them both to jump in place.

"Sorry," CC offers, "just my other ring tone - I'm kind of obsessed with the Eagles these days ..."

The thought and sound of which _so_ horrifies, sickens, and instantly obliterates any budding arousal in her that she stands back, grips him hard by the leopard print collar - sending his cigarette flying, which she promptly stamps out with her heel - and leads him to the door.

 _"What'd I do?"_ he pleads.

 _"Listen to me,_ Curt."

 _"I'm not Curt! I'm just a clone!"_

 _"You CAN'T be into the Eagles."_

"Why not? They're nice guys! And they tip _big_."

She grips his collar tighter and speaks through her clenched teeth.

 _"Tell me_ you haven't blown Don Henley."

"No! What are you, nuts? _He_ blew _me_!"

She stops, thinking. "Okay. I'm ... strangely ... _okay_ with that."

"The Don _Frey_ guy I blew."

"Wait, what?! _Who?_ Glenn Frey, or Don _Felder_? The former has a smug, asshole face, and said that unbelievably asshole rich guy thing about writing to him at his place in _Aspen_ if we didn't like the band's overly inflated ticket prices. The latter was _way_ fucking cute in his heyday, _and_ bearded, and I would blow him myself, (my intense dislike for his band notwithstanding.)"

"I don't remember which. It was after we duet-ed on _"New Kid In Town"._

She seizes hold of his shirt collar further, and positively hisses:

 _"Listen to me._ Clone or no, you are the amalgam, _the tribute,_ to a couple of _punk rock heroes, understand_? The original, undisputed badass _godfathers_ of an underground movement that arguably _singlehandedly_ helped save rock and roll, got it? Curt Wild embodies the very _antithesis_ of mellow California 70's, top 40 AM radio-friendly 'soft rock' bullshit! Punk - which he - _you_ \- helped birth - existed to _eradicate_ that shit, understand?! The _real_ Curt Wild would have eaten The Eagles for breakfast! Chewed 'em up and _shat 'em out_!"

CC squints, baffled, having a hard time breathing with her hand gripping his collar: "Okay, okay."

"You think _Kurt Cobain_ , who bleached his hair platinum blonde in order to _mimic_ Iggy circa _Raw Power_ , _which is the very reason Todd Haynes bleached **your** hair platinum for the film_, was sitting around listening to fucking _New Kid in Town_?!"

"Okay, look; I get that you don't like The Eagles."

"Indeed, but it's way more than that. You have a big, fat, giant responsibility here. _Giant_ shoes to fill."

"Huh? _Shoes?"_

 _"Yes_. Because Curt Wild, to his fans, is also at the same time _the_ pinnacle of, like, _hot,_ okay? As discussed, we want to bang him - you - as much and as badly as we want to bake him - you - loaves of warm, smelly bread. Haynes created this totally male, but still at the same time somehow semi-androgynous, super scorching hot, all time most awesome, crazy-realistic rock star _with a genuine fucking romantic streak_ that like, _ever was._ Remember? He chose to write you walking _into_ the orgy with two half naked women, only to have you walk _out_ of the orgy _and_ pull Brian out along with you and how? By _sheer force of_ _the magnetic power of your white hot glare_ , you dig? And why? _Because he - you - wanted to be alone with Brian Slade,_ and _not_ the anonymous writhing orgy-goers."

"Okay, okay. I get it. All time, super awesome character."

 _"Yes."_

"So I can't, by contrast, be a lame, Eagles-blowing asshole."

" _No_ , you certainly _cannnot._ "

"I need to live up to the _romantic_ yet _crazy_ , dangerously off kilter, brilliantly talented, total fucking reckless tragic nightmare, desperate wanna-be _virgin,_ super hot _mess_."

M, thinking it through: "Well, um ... yes. That about covers it."

Freaked, but nodding: "Got it."

M, sighing, suddenly embarrassed: "Look, I'm sorry. I'm a bit over the top with this shit."

"Um, yes. Just slightly," he croaks. "Look, would you mind? I'm only a clone; we don't eat, or anything, but we _do_ need to breathe, y'know."

She instantly drops her hand from the region of his neck.

"Oh my god; I'm so sorry."

"Jesus _Christ_ ," he says, wheezing, struggling to get his breath back and straightening out the wrinkles in his shirt. "It's okay, I guess, but _Christ_."

"Sorry. Really sorry. Do you need a glass of water?"

"No. Again, we don't eat, or drink."

"I never knew you guys didn't eat."

"Yup. Not food, anyway."

She chuckles. "Filthy boy. I had no idea, though. And here I made you a loaf of home baked bread."

He bursts out laughing.

"Oh fuck. People bake shit and serve me shit all the time. Crispy bacon, black coffee, apple muffins; wine, to get me tipsy. People stick knives into peanut butter jars and set them down in front of me. One guy smeared some all over my dick. One chick made me something called "extra sloppy joes", once, which she said she had heard was 'my favorite'. I think they've been reading your story," he grins.

"Ya," she laughs, "they have."

CC upends his pack, which M peers in at, to see the label - _Lucky Strike_ \- of course. He removes one, lights it, takes a long drag, and blows the smoke straight up into the air above his head, without tilting it back.

M watches the trail flow from his lips and billow about in her living room ceiling.

 _"Do that again."_

He laughs.

"I thought you said no smoking in the house!"

She smiles. She shrugs.

"It's the _way_ _you do it_. And the _way_ that cigarette dangles off the edge of your strung out lips, exactly like it does in the fucking movie. I mean, _sweet Jesus."_

He laughs. They both do.

They pause. They stare a beat.

"So, you don't get hungry, for real?"

His eyes sparkle.

"Not for food."

"God. You're just so _filthy_ it's fucking _glorious_."

He smiles, wide and beautiful.

"People crave food," he explains. "It's fuel, it's what drives them. For clones, the thing we run on, the thing we crave and hunger for and _need_ , more than anything, is _sex_. Let me tell you, _that's_ hunger."

She looks him up and down.

"Ya?"

"Ya."

"So," she says, moving close, and laying a hand on the leopard print, "ya hungry?"

He grins.

 _"Starving."_

* * *

 **THE END**

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_**

For general kick-arsed-ness and fan fiction positivity, the author would like to thank the following:

Todd Haynes, of course, obviously for creating Curt Wild and Velvet Goldmine to begin with, but also for championing and supporting the notion of fan fiction itself. We love you to pieces, Todd.

The hilarious writer, brilliant, unabashed feminist, and person who actually had Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman read _Sherlock_ slash fan fiction on stage, Caitlin Moran.

Mark Gatiss and Stephen Moffat, writer/creators of said _Sherlock_ (I'm talking the BBC series, not the cheezy Robert Downey movies), for also championing and supporting fan fiction. As huge fans of the original _Sherlock_ books themselves, these guys even went so far as to say that their _Sherlock_ is essentially a work of fan fiction, itself. I don't know that a higher compliment can be paid to the whole genre. Thanks, gentlemen. (This, despite their lead actor - Cumberbatch - whom I'm otherwise a fan of, very disappointingly dismissing and ridiculing the genre. Benedict, maybe take a look at the quote below, especially the last line.)

The quote below, from American actor Orlando Jones, talking about some character he plays on some show I've never seen. Doesn't matter. Cool guy, great quote:

 _"I like the slash, and I think I like it because I feel there are so many people who are under-represented – or not represented at all – in mainstream Hollywood entertainment. I really enjoy the fan fiction that embraces character and themes that showcase those people – their love, their desires, their passions. I think that's really cool – and I hope the show as it continues embraces that more, because that's an opportunity to tell stories that other people might not be familiar with. I mean, there's slash of me and Ichabod…that's like, 'What?!' and then I read it and it was really well-written. I get it – **it's another way to go, but it's no less valid than what we're doing** and it's certainly interesting, so I really get a kick out of that. To read fan fiction and to see fan art and to watch other people's artistry paint different colours on top of what we're doing... **how can you be mad at that? That's just completely awesome!"**_


End file.
